


Bye-bye Bag End

by Questions3



Series: Fuzzy Footed Foolishness [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bag End, F/M, Female Bilbo, Rivendell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1017856/chapters/2024575">alkjira</a> </p><p>Bilbo stays in Erebor a bit longer and ends up losing Thorin and Bag End for one reason or another. Decides to hight tale it to Rivendell and completely charms the Elves. When Thorin wises up and goes after his hobbit he's gotta find her with the elves and they have a row. It all ends with Lindir being very scarred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bye-bye Bag End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stories I'm Not Really Writing, Or: The Ideas Won't Leave Me Alone!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017856) by [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira). 



> I hope it's okay with alkjira but I like to switch out my Bilbo for a femBilbo. 
> 
> And it's not really THAT explicit but there's a bit at the end that's kinda toting the line there.

            “Do you _want_ me to go?! Is that what this _is_?! A _dismissal_!?” those amber eyes, flashing that molten gold shade in her ire, held his own blue, steady and challenging. What had he expected? Their tiny burglar, _his_ Halfling, had faced down creatures far greater than he. Stone Giants, glittering Fire Drakes, hordes of Arachnids of Unusual Size, and, foulest of all things foul, _Elves_! What expectation had he entertained that he may cow her now that he sat upon a glittering throne (or would once he was able to bloody move without potentially rupturing his lungs with his own crushed ribs, till then the sweat and bloody stained cot would substitute his ancient, revered ‘throne’) in the hallowed halls of his ancestors? Nothing they’d faced together had sent one Miss Bilbo Baggins running for fear. No beast or creature had sent her from the sides of her dwarrow, that honor was reserved solely for one Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, fool of fools. First his judgment on a rocky precipice, then the illness that haunted his line’s blood, and now his honor, as he remained stone faced in the wake of her temper. But this, he’d decided, after weeks of grueling contemplation and introspection, was the first time he was acting entirely in his hobbit’s best interests.

            Even as her eyes blurred to chartreuse as unshed tears began to gather, he stilled the urge to reach out and assure his one love that this was not what he _wanted_ but what she _needed_. He thought of the past weeks following the battle and how hard this tiny creature of light and nature was working to restore a home that wasn’t her own. He’d watched as she’d crawled back to her tent at the end of a day filled with running through the tent city of wounded. She was helping put his people back together, people who wouldn’t have been so terribly disadvantaged had his pride not blinded him as surely as his grandfather’s sickness. When she wasn’t directly involved in the healing efforts she was leading a contingent of volunteers through the halls of his reclaimed kingdom, cleaning and cataloguing. Preparing a home for their winter encampment. Without a stronghold the cold would end them all, even those healthy and hale. When she wasn’t cleaning she was lending her practical nature to the alliances between Dwarf, Men and Elf that would make his people’s home grand once more. Bilbo was a wonder as she ran through it all, all for the love she held, the caring she felt, for a broken dwarf that had almost killed her with his own hands.

            He couldn’t call her _his_ anymore. He’d dishonored her in the worst ways a suitor could. The love she felt was pure but his was tainted in mistrust and pain, and she deserved better. She deserved better than to spend her days running through a mountain that wasn’t hers, around a people who didn’t belong to her. It was bad enough his actions had placed this tiny peaceful creature in a battle the likes her kind had never and should never have been party to. Now, with his own form lame, she was solely charged with cowing those he should have been attending. Matters of politics and commerce, more troubles that also didn’t enter into the hobbit way of life. She’d bent in every direction to please him, to aid him in all he’d asked of her and others he hadn’t. She’d stayed after nearly breaking from the strain of his expectations and hands, stayed to see he and his nephews saved. Stayed to see them restored to their home, a land foreign and unforgiving to her and her kind. How could he ask more of her? He couldn’t ask her to stay by his side now that he had proven so lacking and irrevocably foolish. She needed to find someone who would bend to her own will, who saw the prize in her before he’d broken it. She needed to go _home_.

            So he remained silent as he watched those amber orbs grow heavy and wet with tears that would not fall in his presence (she never let him see how she cried when he hurt her, one more example of his disgrace). His quiet all the answer she’d get or need, his hollow dismissal of her services and her affection, his silent condemnation as she stormed from the tent and growled at the waiting Balin for a pony as she went to retrieve her pack. Only then did he let his own remorse and grief leak down his own ashen cheeks in wet tracks.

***

            Bilbo didn’t know what she’d been thinking. No, she knew bloody damn well what she’d been thinking, she just didn’t like that she’d been so naïve. A middle aged hobbit and she was still allowing herself to fall to the whims of fanciful fairy tales. Somehow she’d let herself think that the pair would come back together, if not _exactly_ as they had before the incident at the top of those _very_ high gates, at least in some semblance that would mend under their healing attentions. She’d understood, or thought she’d understood, that Thorin had been victim to the influence of his ‘gold sickness’. It had hurt but she’d seen them. It seemed a spell almost, as it wrapped around her dwarrow companions, turning them greedy and unfeeling in those days leading up to the battle. Even happy Bofur had seemed harsher as he coveted all that was glitter and golden, and Bombur had almost stopped _eating_ in his zeal. Thorin’s regard for her hadn’t exactly waned during the sickness, but it had taken a second place to the riches of Erebor. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say it had morphed, he’d turned to her as though she were a possession rather than a person, something to adorn with his new baubles and that could be tossed away when unwanted.

            That was the root of the problem it seemed. She _was_ unwanted. Gold sicknesses it may well have been but it seemed to have enlightened his _highness_ to what he really felt for the useless Halfling in his midst. He’d called her to his healing tent and told her in no short order to leave, go back to her home. Erebor wasn’t any place for a hobbit and she was not needed anymore, now that her contract was complete. She was, apparently, still easily tossed away when he was done with her. Well, fine! She wasn’t about to sit there at the edges of that dilapidated city and _pine_ over that royal arse. Not that it wasn’t a nice arse but she had her pride. Possibly, for the first time in history, her Took and Baggins sides agreed that she was better off heeding the discharge and making her way back to Bag End. Where she belonged and was appreciated.

            As Bilbo drew closer to Bagshot road, however, she was seized with the sudden need to not be ‘appreciated’ quite yet. As a matter of fact, as she came within sight of Hobbiton she began to think it a glorious idea to spend a few days just nursing her wounds and heart in the privacy of her old home. It was not entirely proper for one to run off after a group of dwarrow without so much as a by your leave. It was even less proper as a female, and even _less_ so to go and fall in love with a dwarf King who was, in turn, the source of that wounded heart. So with that in mind, she slipped on her favored bauble and made her way to the scratched green door of Bag End. Okay maybe it was actually the newly painted _yellow_ door of Bag End?

            What the hell was this? As Bilbo glared at the garish color she heard banging coming from within, and the entirely too loud, nasal shouting of one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, chiefest calamity of Shire reckoning. “DAMNIT LOTHO! Get _back here_ and take your _bath_! You have honey in your _feet_ for the Green Lady’s sake!” The gaudy door burst open, nearly smacking the invisible hobbit into the nearby foliage, as a tiny faunt came running through the halls, trailing butter and honey behind him as the shrew in question appeared around the corner. The child had already run right out the open hobbit hole and was racing through the hills laughing as he went, licking the sweets from his face and hands as he went. Despite herself, Bilbo felt a smile lighting her weary face as she watched the frazzled mother standing in the doorway. Who’d have thought Lobelia was such a discombobulated mother? Lobelia’s blonde hair was gunky with filth and constant tugging, but her face was filled with tired resignation as she rolled her eyes and shut the smial door again. Stomping into the kitchen she bypassed the invisible hobbit without a care.

            Walking into the foyer of her home Bilbo found it had undergone some frightful changes, things were displaced or completely missing, others were suddenly there that she’d never seen before or owned (there was no way in the seven hells that gaudy deco vase belonged in her mother’s home). And the pictures that used to hang in prominence of her dear parents were replaced by inept little finger paintings depicting great adventures around the Shire. Anger at the intrusion was vicious as she looked around, but following the invading hobbit into the kitchen Bilbo was finding her rage at finding the Sackville-Baggins’ in her home dimming quickly. Lobelia was an aggravating and annoying bitch but this was a new side to her that had never made light, not in Bilbo’s presence at least. She hated to say it but that scene with little Lotho had reminded her of several similar instances she’d had with her own mother before she’d passed. Bilbo had always been racing out the door for adventure and trouble. Curiosity had her watching the bedraggled hobbit mother in the kitchen as she began to clean up a spectacular mess. On the table were the remnants of what she imagined were an attempt at her father’s honey wheat biscuits. It seemed little Lotho was no better a cook at his young age than she’d been, though no less determined to try.

            Taking a small nibble from a not so burnt biscuit as Lobelia began scrubbing the table she found she wasn’t completely dismayed to see they’d almost managed it, just a bit more cream in the batter and a dollop more of honey. As she’d been contemplating the biscuit, her good for nothing cousin popped into the room and had possibly the largest smile she’d ever seen on him. As she watched he moved behind his working wife and grabbed her, hugging Lobelia’s squirming body to him, ignoring the protests of how dirty she’d get him. They were turned into each other’s arms in a sickening display of happy reunion when Bilbo silently crept out of the smial. She’d find out what the hell was happening from a reliable source, but she feared she wouldn’t actually have the heart to throw that dragon breathed halfwit out of her home. Her mother would have understood, after all, Bag End _had_ been built for a loving family.

***

            Primula and Drogo had told her, over tea, what had happened to Bag End. Apparently, after a year had passed, she’d been pronounced dead. The sale of her things and the claiming of the smial by the Sackville-Baggins had only been finalized last week. Her Brandybuck cousin was practically frothing to take back the home for her dear, very much _alive_ , cousin. And she’d near had a _fit_ when the older hobbit had pursed her lips in a moment of contemplation before declare, “No, I think they’ll do nicely in Bag End” and sipping the last of her tea. Tiny Frodo clutched in Aunt Bilbo’s lap munching on a Danish.

            “You _can’t_ be serious?! You’re going to let that shrew have her only wish granted at the expense of your home!? Where are you going to live? Are you going to let her take _everything_ from you!? What are you going to do then!?” the Brandybuck-Baggins was beside herself, practically tearing out her own black hair as her blue eyes stared into her cousin’s brown.

            Primula would be lying if she didn’t admit the sinister smile that replaced the cuppa on her cousin’s lips was entirely gratifying as Bilbo looked her in the eyes and stated sweetly, “Oh, she’s hardly keeping everything. No, no I feel she can keep the smial, I’ll find something more suited to my singular needs, but I do believe the silverware will find its way back to me, and quite soon.”

            She still wasn’t happy, but she’d accept Bilbo’s wishes. And the next week, after Bilbo had left Hobbiton to find her way into her next great adventure, when Lobelia was shrieking through the town about a thief, well, if Primula laughed a wee bit too loudly, that wasn’t any fault of her own now was it?

***

            “So exactly wat ye think yer doin’ down here lad?” The accented voice elicited a very fearsome yell (really it was a very warrior like grunt, not nearly a squeak) from the dark haired Prince of the Mountain. Turning about from his original position of attentive watchfulness he found the ever-cheerful Bofur standing behind him, mattock leaning against his shoulder curious look in his dark eyes at the appearance of the youngest heir. Coming up behind the miner was his addled cousin, Bifur, both were watching the dark eyed youth as he fidgeted where he stood, glancing back towards the main cavern that led from the Central Market.

            It had been months since the Battle of Five Armies, as the scholars were calling that ill gotten skirmish, and they had been work filled months as the newly resettled dwarrow reclaimed their old home. Each of the original Company was leading efforts to reestablish themselves in the Mountain. Dwalin had taken to the guarding of their home, instituting a Guard and Patrol, as well as training regimen and lessons for the new recruits that were coming into the Mountain by the cart full. Óin had taken to cleaning and establishing a number of healing rooms and reestablishing the Guild as a Master Healer in his own right. Glóin was given dominion over the commerce of the Mountain, aware of trade and moneys, as he was, as well as his awareness of Royal Politics, being the cousin of the King as it were. Glóin had aid in the commerce in the guise of Dori, a merchant of the Blue Mountains, who was aiding in establishing trade with the surrounding nations of Men (the Elves weren’t even thought of as a viable option). Bombur was heading up the kitchens, keeping everyone in the growing nation fed. Nori was aiding in his special fashion, and had already stopped a number of potential assassinations as it were. Balin was aiding Thorin in running the mountain and maintaining order as more and more displaced dwarrow were coming home. The lads, Fíli and Kíli were supposed to be following their Uncle, learning the ropes of government and helping where they were needed. Not that they were thrilled with this development, and would run away from their ‘duties’ rather often. But they rarely ran off and hid in the mines, and never the ones that hadn’t been properly excavated yet, hence Bifure and Bofur’s (in charge of clearing those very mines) surprise at the clearly nervous youth before them.

            With one last glance towards the front caverns, Kíli turned to his two brothers in arms and whispered, harshly, “She’s at it again!”

            Nothing else needed saying as the miners instantly knew just who would have a member of the Royal line quaking in his boots, though the pair had entirely diverse reactions. Bofur’s face became stony, and to see such blatant displeasure on the jovial miner was truly unnerving.. His cousin, on the other hand, became even fiercer looking as his glower shifted into a grumbling muttering in their growling language. Neither enjoyed thinking about the events that involved their blundering King and their wee hobbit friend, but they had differing opinions on the subject. Bofur thought it best to keep the little Burglar as far from the race that had caused her such grief as possible, and if that meant he’d never again see his little friend, so be it. Bifur was of the opinion the force of nature that was after their young friend’s head should be told everything that had transpired previous to her arrival and be let to handle the ridiculous situation they found themselves in now. His friends and family till this point had kept him from voicing his opinions, but here was the wee princeling hiding in their mines, running from the Lady’s wrath once more. It was beyond ridiculous at this point, going straight into ludicrous.

            “Ya know yur Uncle wants none o’ us ta go moutin’ off to that Lady Mother o’ yours lad,” Bofur mumbled as he shifted uncomfortably in his boots. He wasn’t too keen on potentially being here when the lass eventually found her errant offspring. The Lady Dís wasn’t one with whom to trifle. And since she’d arrived near the beginning of winter and taken one look at her brother’s grief and guilt ridden self, she’d been demanding to understand the incongruous demeanor. He should have been ecstatic at reclaiming his home and throne, and with no real loss of property or person. Even her boys, who’d been nearly as severely injured as their uncle during the Battle, hadn’t any lasting damage. Fíli’s face had a handsome scar running the left length but it was more dashing for a lad to have evidence of great deeds done than not.

            “Yeah, well, mum isn’t one to just _listen_ to Uncles wishes. King or no. She wants to know what had us so tight lipped. She’s worked out, by this point, that the missing member of the troupe must be the source. She’s been asking who she was and where she can find our burglar,” the haunted look in the lads face was crushing to see, especially when it was so young and normally mischief filled. “I’m about to break and she _knows_ it.”

            Bifur began to grumble, _“Why can’t she know? What’s she going to do? Bring that blasted idiot King of ours to his senses? Send him out to bring back out Hobbit? Good for it I say!”_

            Kíli and Bofur sighed and were about to rebut the elder when they both suddenly paled and turned to the cavern’s entrance as a sweet low octave rang through the hall, “Well at least _one_ of the members of this Company has sense. It’s a pleasure to hear my thoughts finally reciprocated Master Bifur. If you’d please enlighten me, perhaps over luncheon?” The dwarrow Princess came in to the room, her hair and beard, dark as her brothers and twice the length, wavy ropes twined into intricate braids of breeding and status, jewels glittering within the dark depths. Piercing blue eyes staring straight at the older warrior as she walked to her son’s side. Glancing at the cringing boy her painted red lips thinned as she pulled at his braid, a reminder of who his family was and where his loyalty _should_ lay. Never mind her brother was their King, she was his mother and he and his brother had been leading her on a merry chase now for entirely too many moons.

            Later that night, after an extended lunch with the miner and their kin that same voice was heard reverberating through the Mountain as it howled at some ‘lack wit fool’ and demanded he ‘retrieve the only creature with any sense around here’ from wherever he’d managed to loose her. And if Dwalin and Nori proved to be ready and packed the next morning when their cowed and frustrated King came to them, well it only ensured they were out of that bedamned mountain that much faster. Of all the travesties that had befallen Durin’s line, the greatest was hardly scaled or fire wrought, rather, she was much loved and feared as it was left with the ruling of Erebor in her brother’s absence.

***

            He hadn’t allowed himself to dream he’d ever behold this circle door again. Though it wasn’t carved or green it hadn’t changed too terribly from the first time he’d set his sights on it. Heart racing, Thorin reached out to knock on the portal, only to have it swung open and a fierce umbrella shoved into his face as he stood there. “Who are you and what do you want?! We don’t appreciate dwarves fumbling about in our yards here! Not anymore in any event, so you’d all may as well be off before I have to use this!”

            The blonde creature in front of him was so far from the one he’d been anticipating all Thorin could do for a good while was stare in shock. She was equally as fierce, certainly, but the face was pinched in an unattractive derision and the eyes too small and greedy. Coming back to himself, he drew up and decided his status since his last meeting with Bilbo would hardly allow him the luxery of insulting her house guests and so he bowed low as he introduced himself and his smaller Company, “Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King of Erebor. These are Dwalin son of Fundin and Leader of the King’s Guard, and Nori son of Vori, Spymaster of Erebor. We’ve traveled a ways from the East for a congress with Miss Bilbo Baggins. If she would see us.” The last was added as dread settled in his stomach at the entirely real possibility that the lass would refuse them. Refuse him.

            But he was getting far too ahead of himself as the pinched face practically contracted in distaste at the sound of Bilbo’s name. The blonde answered angrily, “That ill mannered, ill bred braggart hasn’t lived here for over a year now!”

            “WHAT!” Thorin’s roared, fear coursing down his spine at what had potentially befallen his hobbit. The loud bellow caused something of fear to dance across the tiny creature’s face as well as she thrust her umbrella forward and thwack him in the head. With a grunt he found himself being restrained by Dwalin as he’d moved forward to end the derogatory creature.

            “I apologize for my friend’s ill manners ma’am, but could you perhaps tell us where the Lady Bilbo is residing now, if not here?” Nori had thrust himself before his King and the vicious point of the hobbit’s contraption, trying to salvage the situation and accomplish their goal at the same time, before their King got them all thrown into whatever the hobbits laughingly called a jail.

            At this point a hint of smug crept into her voice, “My family have taken ownership of Bag End since the disgraceful cretin ran off to who knows where with a horde of your kind. Probably dead in a ditch somewhere, and well she deserves it for gallivanting about with such ill kept creatures and good riddance to bad rubbish.”

            It took both Nori _and_ Thorin to stop Dwalin from ending the odious creature standing in that ghastly yellow door. Eventually, her sharply pointed umbrella was used to great effect, nailing all three dwarrow before winding the attacking Guard and slamming the door shut on their astonished faces.

            The trio of dwarrow just stared, at a loss as to their next move. Nori suggested they find their way to a local pub to see if anyone had heard rumors of the missing hobbit when the tiniest Halfling the lot had ever seen came running up to Thorin and tugged on his limp hand. “Are you looking for Aunt Bilbo? Are you her dwarrow from her stories?!”

            Big blue eyes, far too big for such a tiny round face, making it far too beseeching and impossible to deny, stared up into astonished ones. Thorin dropped to his knee to be on level with the wee creature, Nori and Dwalin standing behind their befuddled King, “Your Aunt? I did not think Bilbo had siblings.”

            “She doesn’t. Aunt Bilbo’s my cousin, but I call her Auntie cause she lets me. Are you here dwarrow or not!?” At this the tiny face scrunched into a discontented scowl that Nori began laughing at, having seen it directed at himself often enough to recognize the family resemblance. “Aye lad, that’d be us. Is your Auntie here abouts? She’s no’ at home it seems.”

            The tiny creature shook his curly back head rapidly, eyes brilliant with curiosity and smiling grandly at having found his Auntie’s story dwarrow. He just _knew_ her dwarrow would come back one day. Maybe they’d take him on their next adventure! Daddy wouldn’t like it but Mommy could convince him! She’d very nearly finished telling him they were all going to visit Aunt Bilbo at the Elf home anyways. “She went to go live with the Elves! Are you going to find her? Can I come with you!? I’ll be good I promise! I won’t get in the way or fall into a troll horde or a goblin trap!” The lads face was so beseeching he’d almost convinced the dwarrow to pack him up and cart hi off with them. It was only the thoughts of ‘kidnapping’ and ‘baby snatchers’ that stilled their hands.

            Shaking his head Thorin realized what the lad had just told them, “ _Elves_!? Why in the name of Mahal is she with the _Elves_!?”

            The lad vaguely interpreted his horror but the knuckle busters on Dwalin’s fists easily distracted him as he traded Thorin’s hand for the others. “She didn’t want to live in Hobbiton anymore. I heard her telling mama that she’d just remember _them_ , whoever _them_ is. Auntie Bilbo left on her adventure after she took her old spoons back from Lobelia and gave them to mama. They laughed a lot about it at dinner. Daddy thought they were going to get themselves in trouble. He asked Auntie to stay but she said she didn’t wanna be a burtten. What’s a burtten? Which dwarrow are you from the stories? Are you Dwalin? The guard? And you look like what Auntie said the King looked like. But you can’t be the King. Shouldn’t he be back in Erebor telling everybody what to do? Oh! You’re _Nori_!!! Can you teach me to open locks like you did Aunt Bilbo!?! I won’t tell daddy, I promise! Aunt Bilbo won’t teach me, she says I’m too little, but I’m not too little! I’m ten years old! I can learn! I learnt to take care of the carrots Mr. Gamgee planted for mommy! I can be a burglarhobbit too!” The lad’s near incessant questions came to a shocking stop when he ran up to the King again and grabbed his hand again, “Wanna meet mama??! She’ll wanna meet Aunt Bilbo’s dwarrow too! I know she will! And she makes the _best_ cheese scones _ever_!”

            The three bemused dwarrow followed the rapidly chattering lad as he let them much farther from Bag End then they’d anticipated. They stopped in front of neat little smial with a bright blue door and a young woman sitting outside on bench knitting. When she saw her faunt racing up the way with a trio of strangers her brow knitted in concern. When she found out one of those strangers was Thorin Oakenshield she threw her knitting to the side and attacked the King with her needles. It took the combined efforts of Dwalin and Drogo to drag the kicking and screaming mother off the dwarf, Nori being completely useless as he laughed and sat in front of the blue door teaching a wee fauntling to crack it open.

***

            Bilbo knew leaving the Shire was the best thing for her. She hadn’t been _happy_ there since her parents left. As Gandalf had commented, she’d been used to sitting still far too long. So, using the contented Lobelia as an excuse, she’d stole away into her home for some of the tidbits and tokens she just couldn’t do without (and the silverware as a gift to her cousins for their care of her while she was gathering her wits (the wares were almost as well received as the angry caterwauling Lobelia had been seen doing in the Market the day after)) and prepared to make her way somewhere she could start over as her dwarrow had. An adventure of a lifetime, something that would keep her distracted from the pain that had come with the rejection she’d suffered.

            Tooks loved fiercely, her mother had assured her. Belladonna Took hadn’t lasted long after Bilbo’s father’s death, wasting away just after Bilbo had come of age due to her dissatisfaction with life after her Bungo had passed on. Bilbo was no exception, she felt the ache of Thorin’s lack everyday, and with each beat of her heart she felt the reverberations of an empty vessel. But something else the Tooks were, and the Baggins’ had a fair share themselves, was stubborn. And Bilbo refused to succumb to nonsensical pining, not while the pain was fresh and the anger over the dismissal burning hot. She had lost weight, there was nothing she could do about the lack of appetite, but she refused to allow it to end her. Not now, not when there was so much left to see.

            She’d seen the looks Primula and Drogo had been shooting her while she’d stayed with them. Primula had begun paying extra attention to the stories she’d tell their little Frodo about her adventures with the dwarrow. Bilbo was fairly certain the young Brandybuck lass had figured out what was making her elder cousin miss out on so many meals, rather than the excuse she’d kept giving of being used to three on the road. Either way, the concern and pity had eventually been more than enough, and the spirit of adventure and curiosity had gotten the better of her. So striking out against grief and disquiet glances at supper, she’d taken to the West/East Road once more. Her first destination was actual a familiar one, the Trollshaws. She hadn’t received anything from her share of the Erebor treasure, and what with Bag End and her fortune being divvied between her ‘surviving’ family, she thought it best to find some financial backing in that Troll cavern they’d found.

            All things considered, she should have bloody well known better. What with what had happened last time she’d been in the Trollshaws, it only made sense she’d find herself running for her life once again. This time, however, not from Orcs, but some rowdy band of Men bandits. They hadn’t taken kindly to her disinterest in their advances on her person (apparently hitting someone in the head with the flat edge of Sting wasn’t enough dissuasion, one had to actually cut the fingers off the noxious arse to get him to leave off, thank you kindly) and had decided to try and take what wasn’t being offered, and punish the rest for not being properly flattered. Thus she was running through the underbrush miles from the troll cavern where she could have at least hidden behind a rock, there was no half mad wizard with bird shit with a row of Rhosgobel Rabbits to lead them off, and no hope of finding that handy little passage into Rivendell without the blasted Gray Wizard.

            The lads had cornered her between some rather large trees and their rank masses when she’d been saved, once again, though this time much more aware of it, by an Elf Patrol. Well, if one could call two young Elves a Patrol. The twins were very welcome, however, and welcoming. Elrohir and Elladan had insisted she accompany them to Imladris, if only to have a day to recover from the shock of her run in. Upon hearing her recounting of the race, however, the pair were enraptured, damn near smitten if you asked their father, with the tiny warrior who’d taken something no larger than a letter opener and cutting the hand off the much larger attacker. They’d jostled each other for the joy of riding with the wee hobbit, and the reminder of her youngest dwarrow princelings was so strong tears had wavered in her eyes.

            Elladan had been the one to realize her distress, and so she’d told them all about her original travels to Imladris and across the Misty Mountains. She’d left a fair bit about herself and Thorin out, but even so, it was obvious in her sighs and pained pauses as she spoke of the stoic King. Upon arriving at Rivendell the lads had ran their new friend up to their father. Who was more surprised at that point was anyone’s guess. Elrond at hearing of the tiny Lady’s frightful journey and subsequent return, or Bilbo at understanding the grand Lord remembered the tiny hobbit from her first visit. She’d been in such grand company she hadn’t thought to remain in the mind much past the Company’s grand escape. Elrond had been very interested in hearing how the quest had finally ended, having only received a half completed account of it from Gandalf when he’d come to aid in the defeat of the necromancer at Dol Guldur. That had even been before the great battle! Thus Bilbo was placed by Elrond’s side at that night’s supper and found herself in possession of some rather splendid attention.

            That had been a number of months ago. Since then the Lord of the Last Homely House had extended his home for one of the Heroes of the Age. Though she’d played her own part down a bit in the retelling, it was hard not to impact the importance of her role without leaving out large chunks of the tale. Thus, Elrond was able to discern when she was merely being modest and was struck rather impressed with her courage in, not only stealing the Arkenstone, but _returning_ to the dwarrow, even knowing she’d be labeled a traitor. He gathered from her shudder, that declaration hadn’t come without some form of physical retaliation, though she never shared it. She never shared her intense feelings for the dwarf King either, but it was written in her continence as surely as the fear she’d felt in the midst of battle in her retelling of her care for the failing Lord and then her release from her contract.

            Compounding her recount with that of his son’s of her frightful stand against the ruffians she’d been running from before they’d come upon her Elrond decided it would be an injustice not to offer the lass a place in his court. Thus she’d become a fixture in Imladris for a number of months now. She’d sent letters to her family in Tuckborough and those few in Hobbiton who knew her still to be alive. That had been a story that had went over swimmingly. The lads had wanted to eject the loathsome Lobelia that instant where Elrond had found another layer to the Lady Halfling who’d taken to living in his libraries. It was quite fascinating to watch the young creature consume the knowledge she could translate in his stores. When it became obvious she was trying to teach herself Sindarin the Elf Lord had taken time to aid in her education. He found her a quick and inquisitive study. Towards the end of the first month they’d taken to conversing solely in the Elvish language as they discussed common interests and books. She was so keen in her study and added such a pure interpretation on some rather dense materials. Hobbits being simple creatures had simple desires and needs, it, however, didn’t make their philosophy near simple however. In fact, some of her beliefs, though seemingly rather modest or humble, were very profound in their simplicity. Perhaps the world would be the better if everyone were so concerned with family and food as the Shirelings. If nothing else Elrond was suddenly very aware of just why Mithrandir was so taken with the tiny creatures of Yavanna’s garden.

            When Bilbo wasn’t with Elrond his sons were dragging her about the lands. Lindir was put to task to keep the three in anything resembling a line. Elrohir and Elladan were already rather troublesome elves for the Steward, but with the added deviant that was the big eyed, sweet-faced hobbit, they were near unstoppable. The lads would get into all kinds of mischief and run to the wee things skirts for protection from their proper and just deserts. Upon which she would instantly argue they were younglings that didn’t know any better, and were hardly a bad sort, merely lively and in need of distraction, would Lindir please overlook this incident and let her take the pair in hand? Her big amber eyes broke him at every bleeding turn, regardless of whether the par had merely broken a vase or if they’d send a stampede through the dining hall. It was hopeless and they knew and he knew it. The only one who didn’t know it was Bilbo herself, and even if she did know it she wouldn’t have cared.

            Everything was mostly blissful, with the occasional crashing until one day, a few months into the hobbit’s extended stay that Bilbo found herself short of breath and collapsed at the top of a ladder in the library. Had Erestor not taken his own interest in the tiny creature of knowledge and light she’d have fallen to her death. As it was the Counselor/Librarian was there to catch the fainted lass. He was the one who rushed her to her room and sent for Lord Elrond, and then he was the one who stood guard over the fading creature till she’d recovered enough to blink at them questioningly three days later.

            “I hadn’t been aware Hobbits were struck with the fading affliction,” Elrond stated softly as he grasped the tiny hand within his larger. His concerned study of the ashen face was touched with amusement when said face began to regain its fresh pink coloring and turned its bow shaped mouth into a pursed pout.

            Turning to the Elf lord in embarrassment Bilbo affirmed, “Yes, though it is not near as life-threatening as that of the Elves. We have a bit more say in when to succumb to it. My mother lasted a full eight years after my father’s passing. Some hobbits never succumb, outliving their spouses till their own age eventually takes them.” With a sigh she addressed her own state as she pulled at her fingers above the lush blankets of her borrowed bedding, “My own fading isn’t so much a concern when I’m kept busy. It is only when I’ve nothing to keep my interest that it seems to take anything like a hold of me. It’s partially the reason I left the Shire, I refuse to wallow away when I was so foolish as to attack myself to a person who would never find me more than a nuisance.” Fat tears had silently fallen down the entirely too thin cheeks at this admission causing the elder’s heart to clench in sympathy, and darken in anger at the stubbornness of dwarrow.

            Either way, Elrond had a clear task to take for his new little friend, as he said as much as he mopped at the tiny face with a soft handkerchief and turned it up to stare into his own, “Well then we’ll have to keep you busy, won’t we _mîw meldis*_.”

            Bilbo had been given the task of translating the library into Westron. Something she jumped into cheerily as it was a task Erestor had been dreading and Elrond had assured her actually needed doing. While she worked the elves would endeavor to feed the enthralled hobbit. She ate subconsciously, whenever there was a plate in easy reach. So in short order she was gaining back weight she been loosing since the quest and the dismissal of her affections and person. Her cheerful disposition was easily incited as Elrond still very much enjoyed their talks and the lessons she’d happily beg from the elder. The lads continued to drag her into their mischief, though now it seemed to happen much more often, and even Lindir couldn’t find it in himself to be truly upset when the lass was looking healthier with every happy endeavor she engaged with the twins. _Or_ when his Lord Elrond told her truly hellish embarrassing tales from the First and Second Age of the ridiculous lengths their people had made in their attempts to achieve a truly unaffected and ‘majestic’ air. Or the ones involving some of his own exploits as a young elfling. Her laughter was bright and loud, resulting in a wave of similar exclamations from those around her. She’d almost regained all the weight she’d lost from the beginning of her stay at Imladris and her disposition was as sunny as anyone had been privy to when all hell broke loose.

            Elrond was hardly known for his _lack_ of hospitality, but he was not at all happy to be playing host to these particular dwarrow once more. Before him stood the newly crowned Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, scowling as he was denied entrance into the city to seek what he’d come to claim. With him were his more thuggish dwarrow Company members. The larger one who had taken to breaking furniture for the fat one to cook with upon their last visit and the star shaped one who, though he had not been caught, was reported as having snuck off with a number of valuable baubles and supplies. This alone wouldn’t be enough to expel them from Imladris but as they’d just stated their goal was clearly the young hobbit under his care and protection, Elrond was not all together pleased. Lindir was practically seething as he stood by his Lord, stone faced and observing the heathen who’d throw their little friend away as so much clutter. The lads were flanking their father, weapon hands twitching to draw on the miniature conquerors.

            “What’s this then? We’ve come in peace and friendship. To be treated so rudely is by a pack of great treeshaggin’ grass eaters is an insult!” Dwalin growled as he stepped forward to unsheathe his war axe. Only Nori’s growl stopped him as the Spymaster read the protective attitude in the Elves stances and the eager smiles on the younger ones’ faces as the Guard had moved forward.

            Pleasantly as you please, the former thief asked their old host, “And how is Miss Baggins this eve, Master Elf?”

            The cold glint that resulted from his query was obvious, and though it rankled Thorin couldn’t deny these dirt pushers seemed more prepared to care for his hobbit than he had been. He still wasn’t sure how to approach his love when he saw her, but knew he had little to no choice. For one there was Dís, and then there were his own desires. He missed her smile, the feel of her quivering beneath his hand as he kissed her, perhaps a bit too long for proprieties sake. Those honeyed eyes as they watched him from across the campfire and drew him in as she talked about her family or exploits before their quest. The sound of her breathy laugh as he unwittingly entertained her with his blundering compliments and the feel of her heated grip as she grasped his hand for comfort freely given and taken. So no, he could understand the shrub-brained poof’s demeanor, but it wouldn’t stop him from reaching his goal. With that in mind he moved to rush the line when that voice he hadn’t heard since she’d last demanded him to acknowledge her came closer from within the Last Homely House.

            “Lord Elrond! I found this text on the Second Age but Erestor says it is, to quote, ‘both inappropriate and inaccurate.’ From his tone I gather he’s a sight more embarrassed than concerned for historical accuracy, hence refuses to help me translate some of the more... Oh dear!” Those amber eyes had near engulfed her entire face as they grew to saucers at the sight before her. There stood Thorin in all his majestic glory, road worn as he was, he remained the single most handsome creature in all Arda. Behind him, barely restrained, was Dwalin, glaring at her elfish friends, and Nori, her old mentor, his smirk somehow softened as he took her in for the first time in much too long.

            Seeing there were only three of the Company standing before her and looking from the dire faces on her new friends’ faces, and that _Thorin_ of all people had come all this way across half of _Arda_ , Bilbo made the only logical conclusion she could. Jumping down the steps, her demeanor dire, she demanded, “What is it? What’s happened? Has the Mountain been taken? Was it another dragon!? Thranduil must have helped _this_ time. Where is the rest of the Company? Oh Eru please don’t tell me they’re… they’re…”

            As tears began to fill and spill from those large eyes Thorin leapt forward and grasped the trembling hobbit to him, savoring the feel of her against him once more as he reassured her, “No, no, no Bilbo. Everything is fine. Erebor is still ours, and nothing has befallen the rest. They’re all working tirelessly to restore the city to its former glory.” At this he felt the tension bleed from the taut tiny frame.

            Dark brow crunched in confusion as Bilbo looked into those deep blue eyes she’d missed so terribly, “Then what are you doing here? If you’re not here for Lord Elrond’s aid?”

            His breath hitched as he gazed into those beloved amber orbs, “I’ve come for you, Bilbo, my little one. I’ve come to beg your forgiveness for my foolishness.”

            As he watched those brow flew up into equally dark curls and then scrunched again as molten gold rose to the forefront as anger pinkened her plump cheeks. “You _what_?!”

            Before anything more was said, Bilbo glared at the dwarrow trio and wrenched out of the King’s embrace, leaving him feeling bereft. She turned to the Elf Lord and said, as polite as you please, but with such steel underlying her tone it was clear she was hardly asking, “My Lord Elrond, would you please see to my… _friends_ comforts as I lead _their_ King to someplace a bit more private? We have _much_ to discuss.” Without waiting for a response, or even Thorin, the lass was stomping through the Last Homely House. The mightiest warrior of the Durin line following after like some chastised pup.

            She led them to a small office she’d been using for her personal tasks and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang once Thorin had followed her inside. The King made to speak only to be silence by the glaring golden gaze. “ _What_ the _hell_ are you thinking?! What am I supposed to do Thorin? You’ve come all this way to find me for what? Hmm? _Answer me!_ ”

            Shocked at the shouting hobbit, as she stood there trembling in rage the King ould find nothing in his throat to appease her, so resulted his stupid attempts at the truth, “I was a fool. I thought you better off away from me and what I’d done to you. You deserved better than a mate who would put you in danger time and time again. But I can barely function, I cannot rule without the joy and light you bring to my life. I understand if you want nothing to do with me and mine but –”

            “No _buts_ Thorin! You threw me away! You turned me into _nothing_. You _dismissed_ me, as though _everything_ we’d been through or felt was of no consequence. Did it mean _anything_ to you? That you could sweep it all away so _easily_!” here the rage was falling fast to tears and deep hurt. Her face crumpled as she stopped yelling at him and began to howl like some wounded animal. Her voice broke and heaved with her tears and sobs, “You played me a _fool_! I thought you’d _cared_ for me. I thought I meant _something_ to you! Even as just a friend you wouldn’t have tossed me away! You tossed me out and now you’re here telling me it was for my own good!?”

            He couldn’t take it, the pain he’d caused ravaged her face. His own heart had ceased at the sight and he was desperate to start it again. He grabbed her to him, held tighter as she struggled against him, whispered his sorrow and sorry. “You were _never_ nothing. You were always only _everything_. Even when I was too blind to see it.”He petted the curly black mass he’d never hoped to feel under his hands again, he kissed the crinkled brow and soft cheeks, tasting the slat of the hurt he’d placed in his own heart’s heart.

            Slowly, thrashing limbs fell limp; struggle fell to clinging as Bilbo leached the warmth from her dwarf, her love, her Thorin. She latched to his front as she continued to cry into the dusty armor and travel leathers. Her sniffling was pattering into the past and the pair stood there a moment longer before she turned damp eyes up to find pain laced blue watching her. Shaking her head in begrudging acceptance as she realized, she’d already forgiven this ridiculous dwarf. Before his own brow could do more than crease at the negation she’d dragged his lips down to her own.

            It was not a sweet kiss of caring and love. It was filled with too much loss and pain. Tears stained their tongues as they battled for their claims and drove their fear and force faster and harder. In a swift motion, barely more than a step, Thorin had his hobbit pressed onto the desk. Books and scrolls falling to the floor as he crawled on top of Bilbo’s newly shivering body, curves yielding to his own tight body, his right hand grasping at the plump giving of a thigh as he hefted it up and around his hips, tearing the dress she’d been wearing in their mutual eagerness. Her own small nimble fingers made fast work of divesting him of armor and tunic. Before too much longer they were bare chest to bared breasts and sharing breathes and moans as he found the nexus of their bonding. With a sharp intake of breath followed by a breathless shriek, Bilbo felt her dwarf as he entered her and turned her into one large nerve of pleasure and completion.

            Lindir wrenched the door to the office closed, slamming it in his haste to be away from the sight that was now _burned_ into his _mind_. One of a hairy arse clambering up onto his delicate little friend, his ears burning with the gasping moans of her obvious enjoyment and the grunting of that beast’s own joy. With a shudder of revulsion and a small cry over the damage his psyche had just been dealt, the Steward walked swiftly away from the defiled office in the general direction of his Lord. With any luck he’d be able to look Bilbo in the eyes again after about a century. He’d miss the tiny hobbit but he’d never miss that sight _ever_.

**Author's Note:**

> Bastardized Sindarin List
> 
> * mîw meldis - little friend


End file.
